


Nobody

by x_art



Category: Knockaround Guys (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 01:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15159839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: …there’s nobody wouldn’t hurt you if it helped them. That’s what he’d said. He’d said it and he’d meant it. Only he hadn’t meant Matty, hadn’t meant them…





	Nobody

 

 

Nobody

* * *

 

 

_‘There’s nobody wouldn’t hurt you, if it helped them.’_

That’s what Taylor had said to Matty, waiting on the meet, waiting on zero hour.

_Nobody wouldn’t hurt you if it helped them._ He’d said it. He’d meant it.

Only he’d kind of lied, too, ’cause even while he’d been speaking, there’d been a little voice yammering somewhere deep inside, jeering and taunting, calling him the biggest fucking liar that had ever drawn breath because there was one person that would never, _ever_ hurt Matty.

At the time, Taylor had ignored the little voice—he had a job to do and that came first. But _now_ , now that the job was over and him and Matty had both come through, damaged but not dead, well, now that fucker of a voice was getting harder to ignore. And it wasn’t jawing about the ups and downs of self-preservation, of survival—it was needling him, saying that five hundred fights or no, he was pussyfooting around and what the fuck was up with that?

He never used to be such a coward.

***

“No shit?” Taylor asked, hitting the Dodge’s crappy brakes just in time to avoid the black cat that darted across the road.

“No shit,” Matty answered, peering through the window, face almost pressed against the glass like a little kid. “This is it.”

The black cat changed its mind as it reached the curb and turned back. Taylor swerved and honked his horn, just missing it again. Two men standing by an old Olds looked at the van, then went back to their conversation. “Figures,” he muttered, not sure if he was talking to Matty or whatever or whoever had sent the black cat his way. He wasn’t superstitious but a black cat was something else…

“You got a problem with it?” Matty asked, still gawking out the window.

_Yeah, I got a problem with it. I got a_ big _problem with it._ “Nah. I just thought you were pulling my leg.” When Matty had described Elizabeth, Ohio, he’d said it was a place where he could make his mark, that it was small, but up and coming. What he hadn’t said was, that with its five-street business district and its two grocery stores, it was still mostly coming. Or maybe that should be _gone,_ because even Altoona had more than two bodegas.

Of course, when Matty had announced his new career goal, Taylor had a problem with that, too. A career as a marketing manager for a women’s football team? Who _did_ that? Who even knew such a thing even existed? But that was Matty for you—always thinking outside the fucking box whether it was suitable or not.

“You didn’t need to come with me,” Matty said quietly. “I told you that before we were out of Brooklyn.”

Taylor glanced to the side, not happy to see that Matty’s eager expression had changed to what passed for normal these days—blank, watchful, somehow completely _not_ Matty. “Yeah, I know.”

“You can drop me off here and turn around. Or take a plane. I’ll pay for your ticket back to New York. If you want.”

What he wanted was for Matty to stop looking at him that way—like Matty’d just taken a punch to the gut and was waiting for the pain to start. “I don’t want your money and no, I’m done with Brooklyn. I told you that.”

“Okay.”

Taylor gave the van some gas, picking up speed. “I meant it.”

“Okay.”

He sighed. “When do you have to call your guy?”

“Four.”

So, five hours to kill and only a tiny town to do it in. “Let’s find a motel and get something to eat. If I’m hungry, you gotta be.”

Matty nodded and pulled his notebook from the glove compartment. “Jim’s assistant told me there are a couple motels off Center that are good. The…” He flipped through the pages. “…Sunset Motor Inn and The Stay Put Inn.”

“The Stay _Put?_ ” Taylor asked around a snort, forcing a light-hearted smirk he didn’t quite feel.

Matty grinned. “Sounds like a roach motel, don’t it? Roaches check in—”

“—but they don’t check out,” he finished for Matty. “With a name like that, it’s gotta be a winner. We’ll go there first.”

“Take a left on Main. It’s about a mile south.”

Taylor nodded and put on his blinker.

***

The Stay Put Inn wasn’t a winner. It wasn’t even close. It was old, maybe the same age as the town and in about the same shape. The tall sign that announced _Stay Put_ was missing several letters and the parking lot was full of cracks, weeds and trash. Even the building’s exterior had seen better days—the dead pink paint hung in curls making the place look like it was shedding.

Taylor said nothing—he just did what he’d done every time they got to a new motel: he pulled up next to the office and Matty jumped out to get them registered.

He sat back and watched. The man at the counter was pushing a hundred, bent over and frail. He’d probably been working at this dump all his life. Hell, it probably _was_ his place and if that wasn’t depressing, Taylor didn’t know what was. His own life wasn’t much to brag about but at least he wasn’t stuck in some podunk town, working for beans, and waiting to die.

But what did he know? Maybe that man was the happiest person on the planet. Maybe he’d had his chance to move up and out but hadn’t because Elizabeth, Ohio was it for him.

Taylor hummed softly under his breath because he’d had his own chance, three weeks ago when Benny Chains had called him up on the sly and out of the blue.

He’d been double-parked in front of Matty’s place, waiting while Matty dropped off his last check to his ex-landlord. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he’d been thinking about routes and mileage when he’d gotten the call.

‘ _Matty’s gonna drag you down, you know that right?’_ Benny had said after he’d buttered Taylor up a bit. _‘You come work for me and you can write your own fucking ticket.’_

Taylor had answered, ‘ _No, thanks,’_ because you say fuck off to Benny Chains, you say fuck off to your own life. So, _‘No, thanks’_ when he’d really wanted to shout and threaten because the fucking _stones_ on that old man—

Fucking your own kid over like it was nothing, like it was just something you _did—_

He’d been so goddamn angry.

He still _was_ so goddamn angry and without meaning to, Taylor balled his fingers into fists and pounded the steering wheel, accidently hitting the horn. Matty turned and even through the office’s dirty plate glass window, Taylor could see his raised eyebrow. Taylor shrugged, answering silently, ‘ _Sorry.’_

Sorry.

Yeah, sorry.

***

“Why do motel rooms all look the same?” Taylor muttered as he roamed the tiny space, examining the closet, the dresser and nightstand, the bathroom. “I’m serious. Same shitty furniture, same shitty shower curtains.” He shook the plastic curtain, making the cheap rings rattle. “It’s like it all fell off the same truck or something.”

“Maybe it did.” Matty was sitting on the bed, head down, studying his notebook. “Maybe they got it off of one of my pop’s trucks.”

He snorted and went to the other bed. The room was too warm and he was sweating. Matty had stripped down to just a t-shirt and trousers; the smooth curve of his collarbones gleamed in the low light.

Taylor looked away, giving it a moment and then said a calm, cool, “You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Feel like going someplace?”

“Sure.”

He lay back; the bedsprings moaned and whined. “You gonna stop looking at that thing?”

Matty wrote something on the page and circled it. “I gotta prepare. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You won’t.”

“You say that every time and every time they show me the door.”

“You got this one. They’d be idiots to pass you up.”

“Yeah,” Matty glanced up, a quick hit of worried brown eyes. “Here’s hoping they’re not idiots.” He dropped his gaze back to the book. “Let’s also hope they haven’t heard of Benny Chains.”

Taylor rolled to his side and propped his head on his hand. “That’s not on you. That’s your old man.”

“Like that matters to anyone but you and me?”

He shrugged. They’d had this conversation too many times to count—what was the point of rehashing it? Still… “You know, I was watching a program the other day about the circulatory system.”

Matty stopped reading and raised his head. “Seriously?”

Taylor shrugged again. The wound in his shoulder was mostly healed but sometimes it twinged, like it was reminding him that it was still there. “Of course seriously.”

It was three days ago, hanging out in Altoona, waiting on Matty. He’d been flat out on the bed in their motel room, bored out of his mind, watching but not really watching a show on classic cars. When it ended and a documentary about new medical discoveries came on, Taylor thought about changing the channel but couldn’t find the energy or will to pick up the remote. “See, this guy was talking about how blood works, traveling around the veins like it’s on the freeway or something.”

It had been kind of interesting and he’d wished Matty had been there to watch it with him—Matty always liked those kinds of programs because he was curious about everything. Which always meant, to Taylor at least, that Matty was the smartest guy he knew ‘cause smart guys were always learning new things. “Anyway, the guy was saying that the blood gets warmed by the heart and when it gets clear out to the feet and the hands, it gets cold again.”

Matty was watching, a frown on his face. “So?”

“So.” Taylor shifted, sitting up until he was opposite Matty, their knees almost touching. “I figure what you’re going through is like that. Three weeks ago you started out in New York, then you moved on to Pennsylvania. Pretty soon you’re gonna get to the places that don’t know Benny Chains from a hole in the ground. You just gotta be patient.”

Matty’s frown had faded; he was almost smiling. “Yeah?”

“And if this guy, this Fisher, if he gives you any crap about the family, I’ll take care of it for you.”

And, fuck, that was the wrong thing to say ’cause Matty’s face got real tight again, closed up, shut down.

Him and his big mouth.

“If Jim gives me any crap about the family,” Matty said evenly, “I’ll just go to the next name on the list.” He tossed the notebook on the bed. “I’m gonna shower. Then we can eat.”

Before he could say anything else, Matty was up, striding to the bathroom, closing the door firmly.

Still angry at his stupidity, Taylor waited until he heard the sound of running water, then stretched an arm and grabbed the notebook. He thumbed through it until he got to the dog-eared section titled, _‘Prospects.’_

He’d heard Teddy bragging once, saying that Matty was as smart as he was because he’d had two fathers, two people showing him the ropes. Even at the time, Taylor had silently called bullshit ’cause Matty was naturally smart. Way smarter than Teddy had ever given him credit for and here was proof.

Before they’d left New York, waiting for Taylor’s wounds to heal and his probation officer to review the plans and give the okay, Matty had set up a schedule. He gave his landlord notice to vacate a year early and then moved in with Taylor. He bought office supplies, including two cell phones, one for himself, one for Taylor. Then, he spent the next two weeks researching women’s sports teams in the Northeast and Midwest, saying a guy his age with no experience would never get past the door at the men’s clubs.

Matty had ignored the bigger outfits and focused on smaller associations that—according to him— _hadn’t seen any growth in a couple years and were dying for it._ After he’d whittled the list down to a manageable twenty-five, he wrote up a marketing plan for each. After _that,_ he’d gotten on the phone and began calling until he’d hooked eleven interviews.

The first clubs had been a bust. Numbers one through five were far too familiar with the Demaret family legacy and broke to boot. The sixth would have taken Matty but they were an obvious front for what was left of the Allentown mob and Matty had said no way.

Taylor had hoped Matty would leave the seventh for last. Besides being a long shot among a bunch of long shots, it was in fucking no-name Ohio, a town so small it wasn’t even on some maps. But Matty had always been like a pit-bull—when he got his teeth in an idea, he wouldn’t let go, so here they were—

No, here _Taylor_ was, wondering what he was doing, wondering if—

“Hey, can you get the shaving kit out of my bag?” Matty called out from the bathroom.

“Sure.” He reached for Matty’s suitcase the same time he dropped the notebook on the bed, casual like, even though Matty wouldn’t care. Matty had run everything by him, including the various pitches he was gonna use. Like Taylor knew the first thing about something as rarified as a marketing pitch _._

He got the kit and turned, and fuck, Matty was standing in the doorway, a towel was wrapped around his slim hips. Not an uncommon thing—they’d known each other for so long, nudity was no big thing. But somehow, some _way_ , it had become a big thing, like Matty with his water-slick skin was someone new, not the only friend Taylor’d had all his life, the only person he could truly _trust_.

Swallowing, Taylor silently padded the short distance from bed to bathroom and handed Matty the kit, thankful for the expression he’d perfected while still in grade school. He’d used the same to make wannabe killers and stone-cold tough guys back down. Funny thing was, compared to this—Matty almost naked and smelling of soap and standing in all that steam—Taylor would take the killers any day of the week, hands down.

“Thanks,” Matty said.

Taylor nodded and strolled back to the bed, feeling like he had a target on his back.

“I was thinking,” Matty added, “you don’t need to go with me. I mean, if you want to stay here or something, that’s okay. I know you need to check in with your P.O. I’ll call when I’m done. If that’s okay.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

There was a small click as the bathroom door closed.

Taylor went to the window and drew the curtain back and then gazed at the empty parking lot. He wiped the moisture off his forehead, telling himself it was simply steam and nothing else, whispering way too low for anyone but himself to hear, “Ah, Matty, you’re killing me.”

***

At four, Matty called Jim Fisher. The call lasted a few minutes and Taylor listened in, watching Matty’s expressive face go from cautious reserve to hopeful excitement as he wrote down whatever Fisher was saying.

When Matty hung up, he said without raising his head from the notebook. “We’re on for tomorrow at five-thirty.”

“Good.”

***

Matty dreamed that night, bringing Taylor upright from a sound sleep.

Taylor didn’t dream much but Matty did. Generally, Matty dreaming was nothing more than half-heard words and muted grunts. One time, when they’d still been in school and Taylor had slept over, he’d woken up to the sound of laughter. He’d leaned over Matty, surprised to see a smile on his sleeping face.

But not tonight. Tonight, sleeping Matty was grimacing, his arm flung out, fingers twitching like he was trying to grab something.

Taylor listened, unsure whether to interrupt or not. They said it was dangerous to wake a dreamer from a dream, like it would give them a heart attack or something. But whatever Matty was dreaming had to be worse than any possible heart attack and Taylor was reaching across the two-foot gap when Matty turned on his side. He sighed and then his mouth and hand relaxed.

Taylor waited, half out of bed watching Matty’s face, waiting for the nightmare to return.

After a few moments of nothing, he lay back down and tucked his arm under his head. He fell asleep that way, still listening, still watching, still waiting.

***

Taylor ended up driving Matty to the interview, arguing that podunk town or not, Matty didn’t want to lose his way because that make a good impression, getting to an interview a few minutes late.

Matty didn’t point out that the town had about twenty streets and it was impossible to get lost. He just got out that fucking notebook again and absentmindedly said, _‘Thanks.’_

Taylor dropped Matty off at the team’s office. The place was shoddy and looked more like a front for illegal activities than a legit business.

Matty got out and closed the door. He rested his hands on the window frame and gave Taylor a subdued, “Wish me luck,” and an even more subdued grin.

Taylor wanted to say that luck had nothing to do with it because Matty was far too good for this job, but Matty was gazing at him with that hopeful gleam in his eye, so he just nodded and muttered, “Good luck.”

He drove away as soon as Matty went inside the building, not really sure where he was going. He could hang out at the bar at the end of the street or return to the motel. Both ideas made his teeth itch so he gunned the engine and went straight down main, heading north.

Taylor cruised through town, passed by a tree-lined river and by an old redbrick building with a cannon and a statue of some guy. He didn’t stop until he was miles away, out in the wide open of corn country. Pulling to the side of the road at the bottom of a low hill, he cut the engine. He got a cigarette and lit it up.

He wasn’t fond of wide and open. Give him brick and concrete and twenty-four seven pizza delivery any day. All this nature gave him the creeps, like there was _too_ much of it or something.

He glanced up. A plane was flying high above, leaving behind a streak of white that split the bright blue. Marbles called it a contrail _,_ that white streak, saying it was what happened when a plane’s exhaust mixed with the cold air. He fucking loved flying, did Marbles. Of course, he also loved coke and screwing up. It was Taylor’s opinion that you couldn’t have the former without the latter. Stupid fucking Marbles, shot dead in some backwater because he just couldn’t control it.

Matty still spoke of Marbles at odd times, carrying that remorse like it was a coat made especially for him. Taylor never tried to talk that guilt out of Matty—he’d learned a long time ago that all those brains came with a shitload of feelings and there was nothing he could do about Matty’s capacity for caring _._ There was nothing he _wanted_ to do about it; Matty’s concern for wrong and right, the way he worried too much about his friends—those were the things that made him who he was.

Taylor wasn’t big on feelings, on affection; he could count on one hand the people he cared that much for. There was his mom, of course, his aunt Rachel, and his absent dad even though that was a mixed bag because he kind of hated himself for his inability to despise his bastard of a father.

And then there was Matty.

“Fuck,” he whispered harshly, stubbing the cigarette out, scrabbling for the door handle ’cause the van was suddenly like a tomb and he had to get out. He strode up the empty road, almost stomping because _then there was Matty._

Taylor had always known that if he managed to make it through the life, it was just gonna be him and Matty in the end. He’d even pictured it, Matty in a mansion out in New Jersey and him living in some dive, content because he was still around to make sure Matty got hurt by nobody. He’d always known this and he’d been content in the knowing; there’d been something peaceful about it. But now in this wide-open space with a sky so blue it was almost painful, all that time—those days, months, years—felt like a prison sentence. Like he’d been living in a cage, waiting for the minute when the lock clicked and the door swung open and…

And Matty would be standing there without that worried look in his eyes, staring straight at him, straight _into_ him.

So, yeah, it had always been him and Matty but nothing had changed. It was as if they were still back home, surrounded by goombahs watching their every fucking move. Still fucking _waiting…_

When he got to the top of the hill, Taylor was practically running. He slowed to a stop and then stood there, his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. He looked around.

It couldn’t be more than six or six-thirty but the sun was already going down. It cast an orange light over everything, the clouds, the few trees and the fields, making everything glow like it was all gonna burst into flame or something. It was weird and menacing and he was still watching it when his cell phone rang.

He fumbled for it, unused to the buttons that were too small for his fingers. “Hey,” he said after he managed to push the right button _._ “How’d it go?”

Instead of answering, Matty asked quietly, “Where are you?”

He looked around. “Nowhere.”

“Yeah, well, get back here and I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Where’s here?”

“A bar off Main—the Mayflower. Here’s the address.”

While he listened to Matty rattle off the directions, a ragged jitter burned his belly and he caught himself thinking, _What do I_ _want the answer to be—yes or no?_

***

Elizabeth was small but you wouldn’t know it by the amount of people crammed into the Mayflower. It was standing room only, both at the bar and the dining room. Taylor peered through the gloom, finally finding Matty in a booth all the way to the side and back. As he worked his way around the tables, the diners watched him, some openly staring.

It was something he was used to, the gapes and the googly eyes. He knew his size freaked people out as did his general air of danger. He knew it, he used it.

“So what,” he said to Matty as he slid into the booth, “you get it?” A question he hadn’t really needed to ask—Matty practically glowed, he was so fucking happy.

Matty pushed a glass of water towards Taylor. “I start next week. They can’t wait. Jim took me to meet the team. You should see them—I think some of them could take even you. It’s gonna be great. Jim says he’s been wanting someone like me for a long time only the city council hasn’t wanted to spend the money.”

“It probably helps that you come so cheap.” The words were bitter, a complete surprise but Matty wasn’t fazed.

“It helps that Jim is putting up his own money.”

Taylor shrugged. All Matty would say about Fisher was that he was rolling in dough from an inheritance. “Still.”

“Okay, yeah, the salary isn’t great,” Matty agreed with a shrug, “but the cost of living here is a joke and I’ll have a performance increase after three months, plus a yearly bonus. I mean, if things go well.”

Taylor took a long pull on the water; it tasted sharp, like he was drinking liquid metal.

“I was so jazzed I couldn’t sit still so I wandered around town to look at some houses. They don’t have apartments, not like back home, so we’re gonna need to get a house. I was thinking rental first ‘cause who knows if it’s gonna work out, but after that, there’s a couple places outside of town, old farms that Jim says are going for a song. We could get chickens.”

Taylor had been listening, trying to feel what he was feeling. Humor, doubt, dismay? He wasn’t sure but one thing he did know for certain—there was no way in hell he was gonna be a farmer. “Chickens?”

Matty grinned. “Yeah, okay, no chickens, but Taylor…” He leaned across the small table. “No more cracker box apartments, no more landlords calling the shots. Won’t that be amazing?”

Matty’d had it easy growing up—fancy house, fancy prep school, fancy college. He’d never had to worry about fixing things or making do. Taylor knew all about broken pipes, toilets that didn’t flush and windows that leaked cold. But Matty was still grinning, still so happy, and he couldn’t rain on that parade. “Sounds great.”

Some of what he was feeling must have bled through his words because Matty sat back, his smile dying.

“I wanted to tell you…” Matty fiddled with the beer label, peeling back a corner. “I told Jim about you. How that if you stay, you and I are a package deal and you’re gonna need a job.”

“We already talked about that. I—”

“Yeah, I know. You said you could find anything but I know what you’re thinking. I know what that ‘anything’ means. Do you really want to be running fucking arcade games the rest of your life? Listen…” Matty looked around quickly, then leaned forward again, whispering, “This town don’t look like they need muscle, Taylor. The biggest event this year is gonna be the freaking Fourth of July parade. Besides—” Matty glanced around again, a quick flicker of eyelids like he was looking for a place to run.

“ _‘Besides,’_ what?” Taylor asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Matty shrugged. “Besides, I want you to find something honest that makes you happy, you know?” His gaze dropped to the beer label he’d almost removed. “I don’t want you doing that anymore, Taylor, hiring yourself out. Not for anyone and especially not for me _._ ”

The bar was noisy, filled with a human-made wall of sound. Only, for a minute, a _split_ second, the noise disappeared and all Taylor could hear was the sound of his own heart thumping, all he could feel was the pain in his chest like he was having a heart attack or a stroke.

“Yeah, okay,” he finally agreed, just to say something. “What’s the job?”

_***_

Matty told him what the job was over a pie that had a lot of nerve calling itself ‘pizza.’ By the time they were done, it was going on ten and the place was empty except for them and the waitress.

Matty paid the bill, throwing a twenty and a ten on the table, still talking. “…he said you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to, but I told him I’d leave it up to you. After all, it’ll be your shop, so your call.”

Taylor nodded like he’d been doing for the last hour and followed Matty out of the bar.

“I asked if you’d have an assistant but Jim said not now. There’s this kid, Earl, that’s a complete screw up. They’re gonna fire him as soon as you get settled in. After that, who knows?”

It had gotten chilly and Taylor hunched his shoulders. He should have remembered his coat but the day had been so warm. “An assistant for a three vehicle shop? Nah…” He shook his head. “I can handle it on my own.”

“Yeah, but if the league grows like we want it, Jim is gonna buy another bus, maybe even a plane.”

A plane? He knew nothing about planes. Buses were gonna be bad enough. “When would I start?”

“I told Jim I’d leave that up to you, too. They just moved into a new building.”

“So, a couple weeks?”

“Maybe. Jim said they won’t have the equipment installed until the end of May. So…” Matty stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “What do you think? Are you interested?”

“Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

Matty smiled. “I’ll call Jim tomorrow.”

Taylor nodded again, irritation coming out of nowhere. He was cold, he was exhausted, and he was fucking sick of Jim even though they’d never met. “You do that.”

“Hey.” Matty reached out and touched Taylor’s arm. “You okay? I can drive.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just tired, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, c’mon.” Matty bumped Taylor’s shoulder with his own. “Let’s go.”

***

The minute they got to their room, Matty hit the bed. Stretched out, arms and legs everywhere, eyes closed. He was still wearing his suit and that wasn’t good—he only had the two.

Taylor locked and bolted the door, then tossed his keys on the dresser. “Hey.” When Matty ignored him, he tried again. “C’mon. At least take the tie off—it’ll strangle you. My uncle Mose died that way.”

Matty snorted and squinted up at him. “Bullshit. He got capped by Teddy when a deal went south. At least, that’s what you said when we were kids. But you’re right…” Matty sat up and dragged the tie over his head and then toed his shoes off. “You busy tomorrow morning?” He rolled off the bed and began to strip.

_Yeah; I was planning on plowing the back forty. Whatever the hell a back forty is._ “What d’you think?” Taylor sat on the bed and unlaced his boots.

“Good. I’m gonna see a realtor about one of those rentals.” Matty hung his jacket up, and then his pants. “I was hoping you could go with, see if the houses are up to code, that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know anything about Ohio’s housing codes.”

“You know what I mean.”

He pulled off one boot. “Yeah, okay.” He pulled off the other.

“I mean…” Matty got into bed, the mattress squeaking. “It’s not like we’re gonna be buying any of them, but I don’t like renting a pig in the poke, you know?”

Taylor shimmied out of his trousers. He had to piss but he was almost too tired to get back up. He looked over his shoulder; Matty was under the covers already, on his side, eyes shut tight. “Matty?”

“Yeah?”

He couldn’t say it, couldn’t say, _‘I think you’re moving too fast,’_ and, _‘Are you sure this is what you want?’_ He stood up and muttered, “I gotta piss.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

He cracked a smile. “Sure thing.”

“Hey, Taylor?”

He turned. Matty was up on one elbow, gazing at him, the lamp turning his skin a soft gold. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for everything. I mean that.”

He didn’t want Matty’s thanks, didn’t want anything but the thing he couldn’t want, so he just nodded and went to the bathroom.

***

He’d been prepared for boredom or even frustration, but driving around, examining the rentals was kind of fun. It distracted him plus it gave him a chance to do what he did best—look out for Matty.

“And I’m telling you,” Taylor said, jabbing his thumb at the second floor roof where the rot was most visible, “that roof is gonna pour water the next big rainstorm.” He stepped back into the sun and shaded his eyes. “I’m surprised it hasn’t already.”

The realtor, a sixty-something woman with a beehive that was the same color as her red dress, pursed her lips and exchanged glances with her handyman, Harve. She said sweetly, “That roof has been around for a hundred years, Mr. Reese. I’m sure it will hold for the relatively short amount of time you’ll be renting the place.”

Taylor opened his mouth but Matty got there first. “Here’s the thing, Mrs. Ballard. You mentioned this is one of the houses that is rent-to-own, right?” He smiled. “Say we take you up on the offer. We move in, get settled, and decide to buy it. What’s to encourage you to fix it once we’re in?” He shrugged. “The way I see it, that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen and neither of us want that.”

Taylor didn’t give a fuck what the Ballard woman wanted but Matty had fallen for the farmhouse, love at first sight, and what Matty wanted… “Tell you what,” he said, putting his sunglasses back on. “You knock a hundred bucks off each month’s rent for the first year and I’ll fix it myself.”

The realtor drew a breath of outrage, her cheeks going as red as her hair. Before she could speak, Harve said, “It’s a good idea, Margie. You haven’t had a bite on this place in months and this boy looks like he can handle the work. All he’ll have to do is remove the soffit and brace the corner.” He gave Taylor a sharp look. “But, I’m going to be there every step of the way to make sure you do a good job.”

Taylor didn’t smile. Harve was maybe ninety and no more than five-four. “I won’t make a move without you, Harve.”

Harve smiled and patted Taylor’s arm. “Then it’s a deal. Margie will write up the contract and you boys will have your house.”

The realtor was still red, but she grudgingly agreed. She smiled tightly at Matty, gestured _after you,_ and they both went inside. Taylor stayed out in the yard with Harve to look around some more. He couldn’t say he loved the place like Matty obviously did. It was about a mile northwest of town, sitting on top of a big hill. The only access was a dirt road that didn’t get any traffic. That was the only plus, to his way of thinking, that they wouldn’t be living in town.

“It’ll take some time to get the lumber in; maybe four or five days,” Harve said. “That suit you?”

Taylor nodded. “That’s fine.” The house was surrounded by a loose circle of tall trees. Beyond that were miles and miles of soybean fields. The property came with an old shed and a barn that looked ready to fall over. He hoped Margie the Realtor wasn’t expecting him to fix that, because if she was—

Harve rocked on his heels. “I hear you’ll be working for the Eagles as their mechanic.”

He nodded again.

“That’s good. They were on the road last year and the bus broke down in the middle of nowhere. The poor kids had to walk a mile to the nearest farm.”

He raised his eyebrow—it was kind of funny, considering.

“And I bet you’re wondering what I consider the middle of nowhere considering we’re _in_ the middle of nowhere.”

Taylor turned. Harve was watching him, a big smile on his face. “You a mind reader?”

“No, I just know city folk.”

“‘City folk,’” Taylor murmured. “Yeah, I guess I’d consider this the middle of nowhere.”

“Well…” Harve stuck his hands in his overall pockets and began walking towards the barn; Taylor followed. “Just wait until you’ve been here a year. You’ll wonder how you stood it, living with all those people, all that noise.”

“Where’re you from, Harve?”

“Cincinnati originally, but after the war I lived in New York and Chicago. In ’58, I met my bride and we moved out here.”

“You were in World War Two?”

“Nope.” Harve shook his head. “Korea. Stationed in Pusan.”

“Yeah?” Taylor had never heard of Pusan. “Was it bad?” He winced; it was an idiotic question, the kind he rarely made.

Harve gave him a look. “What do you think?” Before Taylor could say he was sorry, Harve shook his head. “No, don’t apologize. The Korean War was a footnote to WW Two. No one should be expected to remember it.”

He frowned. And no one should settle for second best either, even if they were okay with it.

“Son?” Harve asked, rocking on his heels once more.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted you to know that this isn’t Wyoming. You don’t have be afraid for your life here. Even though a man would have to be a fool to mess with you.”

Taylor half smiled, half frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, you and your friend…” Harve made a gesture, nodding to the house. “You don’t have to worry about being run out on a rail. We’re fairly laid back. Hell, we have a woman’s football team—nothing much bothers us.”

Taylor got the gist halfway through Harve’s speech; he didn’t know whether to snarl or laugh. Either would offend Harve and he already liked him, so he just said, “I hate to break it to you, Harve, but Matty and I are just friends.”

Harve frowned. “Seriously?”

He smiled because he couldn’t help it. “Yeah, seriously.”

“Huh.” Harve shook his head, his wispy hair waving in the breeze. “The word around town is that you’re a couple.”

“The town is wrong. We’re just friends.”

“Well,” Harve said, almost doubtfully. “You would know.”

“I would.”

“Hey!”

They both turned as Matty and Margie the Realtor came out of the house, all smiles. “It’s a done deal,” Matty called out, holding up a set of keys. “We move in next Wednesday.”

“As soon as the check clears,” Margie said pointedly.

“Yeah,” Matty said, giving Taylor a look that said, _‘Can you believe this lady?’_ “As soon as the check clears.”

“I think that calls for a celebration,” Harve said. “It’s too late for dinner; what if we meet at the Mayflower tomorrow? Say, five o’clock?”

“Sounds great,” Matty said.

“It’ll be my treat,” Margie the Realtor said as she stuffed the contract into her purse. “I’ll make a list of the repairs. When I see you, you can sign off on them.”

Harve pulled on his _Elizabeth Eagles Are The Bomb_ baseball cap. “Five o’clock it is. Taylor…” He turned to Taylor and held out his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, son. You let me know if you need anything. Paint, nails—I’ve got a garage-full at home.”

Behind Harve’s back, Matty gave Taylor a raised eyebrow. “You can count on it, Harve.”

They walked Margie and Harve to Margie’s slick SUV and watched as they got in and drove down the hill.

“You made a friend,” Matty said.

Taylor grunted. “He’s cool.”

“Hey.” Matty touched Taylor’s arm. “I want to take another look at the house. That room in the basement by the furnace? That’s gonna be our own personal gym; it’ll be the only cool place in the summer. I’m gonna bring in some weights, maybe even a treadmill. Come on.”

Taylor pulled off his sunglasses and followed Matty up the steps, across the porch and into the house. The place seemed different, bigger, now that they were on their own and there was no lady in an ugly red dress following them around.

On the main floor was the kitchen, a large living room and a small study only Margie had called it a ‘parlor.’ Stairs in the middle led to the second floor and three large bedrooms, each with their own sinks and decent-sized bathrooms. The kitchen had been built for farmers; it was huge with a big wooden table in the middle and a wide stove on the left. The room was painted a pale yellow and had red tile trim. It was a waste of good space, Taylor thought as he skirted the table—neither of them knew how to cook.

Everything needed a good wash because the house smelled musty, but it wasn’t a bad smell. It was just an old smell.

Even the basement, which according to horror movies should be creepy and filled with the stench of death and decay, smelled only of disuse. The walls needed paint and the stairs needed work—the step near the bottom gave way a bit and Taylor had to stop from grabbing Matty’s shoulder when the wood creaked and then cracked.

The basement was divided into one big room and several smaller. Matty stopped in the middle while Taylor edged around to look at the furnace again. It was a centuries-old, eight-armed monster that, according to Margie, would last another hundred years. “She sure changed her tune about fixing up the place,” he said, peering at the furnace’s label that stated, _‘Proudly made by De-luxe Heating, Akron, Ohio.’_ “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Matty said. “I just managed to flash my Rolex a couple times. She settled down after that. What about you? Harve looked like he wanted to adopt you or something. What’d you two talk about?”

He was getting ready to tell Matty about Harve’s mention of Wyoming but hesitated. It was stupid—what had seemed nothing, now seemed _not_ nothing. Like, if he were to tell Matty what the town thought, that would change things between them.

But Matty had been lied to all his life, by almost everyone. His father, his uncle, his friends…

Taylor may not have told Matty what he was thinking one hundred percent of the time, but he’d never flat out lied and he was damned if he was gonna start now. “It wasn’t anything. He told me about the war—” He turned around. “You ever hear of Pusan?”

“Yeah. It’s in South Korea, right?”

“I have no idea. Anyway…” He went back to examining the furnace, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at Matty. “He told me the whole town thinks we’re making it.” When Matty didn’t say anything, Taylor glanced over his shoulder. Matty was watching him steadily. “You knew?”

“Yeah, kinda. Jim asked about you and from the way he _didn’t_ ask, I figured he thought you and I were…” Matty made a gesture. “You know.”

He hesitated, then asked evenly, “It bother you?”

Matty sort of laughed. “Honestly, no. You?”

“Like I give a fuck what people think.”

Matty nodded. “That’s what I thought.” When Taylor didn’t say anything else, he added quietly, “So you’re okay with it?”

Taylor nodded, heart aching like it was too big for his fucking chest.

Matty hesitated, then shrugged. “I better get back to the motel. I gotta put in some hours tonight. We’re gonna have our first budget meeting in the morning.”

They trudged back upstairs, Taylor stuck on the fact that contrary what he’d intended, he’d lied to Matty’s face for the very first time.

*

That night Taylor couldn’t sleep. He lay there on the soft motel bed, hand on his chest, watching the ceiling, tracking the periodic streaks of light as cars drove by. Finally at two, he got up and went outside. He wandered barefoot across the parking lot to the big sign announcing in weak orange neon: _Stay Put Motor Inn. You’ll never want to leave!,_ only it really said, _‘You’ll nevr want to leve!’_

It was starting to bug him, that ‘nevr,’ that ‘leve.’ On the second night at the Stay Put, Matty had told him those typos were a big marketing no-no. That they indicated a sense of unprofessionalism and if the owners were smart, they’d just fucking fix the damn sign. Taylor had listened, nodding like he knew what the fuck Matty was talking about.

He looked past the sign and on up to the sky. The stars were so clear, here in Ohio. He’d never seen them so bright back home. But then, there’d been no real reason to look up and even if there had been, he’d probably be dead ‘cause distractions like that were dangerous.

Distractions. The biggest of which was asleep in that saggy double, thirty feet away.

He rubbed his arms, shifting from foot to foot.

_“Does it bother you?”_

_“Honestly, no.”_

That’s what Matty had said, calmly, without fear, like it was a conversation they’d had many times. Or like they were talking about the weather.

So what would happen if he went in there, sat on Matty’s bed and reached out? A fist to the jaw didn’t worry him because Matty punched like a girl. But the other—a look of disgust or surprise? That would be so fucking—

“Hey!”

The loud whisper jerked Taylor around.

Matty was standing in the doorway of their room, wearing only his shorts and t-shirt, arms wrapped around his chest. “You okay?”

Taylor waved, then nodded a goodnight to the stars high above and went back in.

***

Taylor started his new job under less-than-promising circumstances.

He arrived thirty minutes late because he hadn’t slept well the night before and because the Dodge’s battery chose that morning to crap out. When he arrived at the annex slash garage, huffing and puffing after running the last few blocks, he was sweating and mad.

It didn’t help that Matty and a group of suits were standing outside the front door. Taylor hesitated, wishing he could at least clean up, but there was nothing for it—he kept on going. Matty waved and the suits all turned to watch him hustle up.

Matty was the first one to speak: “Jim, this is my friend, Taylor Reese. Taylor, this is Jim Fisher.”

A man about forty, fair-haired, tall and handsome in that ex-ball player kind of way, came forward, hand outstretched.

“Taylor,” he said, his smile blindingly white. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Fisher’s grip, like it fucking well _had_ to be, was firm and no-nonsense. Taylor pulled free. “Same here.” He gave the other guys a once over. They were bottom-feeders, not important enough to be on first-name basis with, but important enough that he had to be careful not to blow it for Matty.

“All good things, I hope?” Fisher joked, looking back to make sure his guys laughed as well.

They all did, of course, even Matty.

“I was just telling them about my plans for the event on Saturday,” Matty said, coming to stand next to Fisher. “We’re inviting a bunch of big leaguers, hoping to get some endorsements.”

“Including Pepsi and Reebok,” Fisher added. “It should be quite an afternoon.”

“If they come,” Matty said.

Fisher laughed. “They’ll come. How could they not, with the pitch you gave them.”

It was like a show, Taylor decided. The Matty and Jim Show; any minute they’d link arms and start to sing.

Except Matty was watching him with that undercover expression, the one that a stranger might read as calm and unconcerned.

“I better get in there,” Taylor said, pointing to the door. “And see how things are setting up.” He held his hand out to Fisher again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

He nodded to the group, then made for the garage door. He was almost inside when Matty called out.

“Taylor! Wait up!”

He turned and watched as Matty jogged over, tie flying over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Matty stepped closer, whispering, “I was gonna ask you the same question. You all right?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Matty smelled of cologne and heat and Taylor had to stop himself from leaning in.

“Where’s the van?”

“Stuck on the edge of town with a fucked up battery.”

“Shit,” Matty murmured. “Well, don’t worry about it. Jim’s giving me my own SUV. I’ll take care of the van during my lunch hour.”

“You sure _Jim_ can spare you?”

And, oh, _fuck,_ he hadn’t meant to say that and he wanted to apologize immediately, but Matty had taken a step back.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matty said again, this time icy calm, smoothing his tie like it was something he’d been born doing. “I’ll take care of it.”

“All right.”

“The van’ll be here when you’re done for the day.”

“Thanks.”

Matty’s jaw worked, as if whatever words he wanted to say were jammed up in his throat. He smoothed his tie once more, then backed away, saying, “See you tonight.”

***

The rest of the day wasn’t quite so fucked up. Taylor met the other mechanic, a gangly kid named Earl. After talking with Earl for two minutes, he understood why Fisher wanted to can the boy’s ass because Earl was a screw-up. Not a complete loser like those two hillbilly delinquents that had taken Benny Chains’ money back in Wibaux, but close enough.

Turned out, Earl was the son of the mayor, which accounted for the job, and a high school dropout, which accounted for all the spare time.

Earl liked to talk on his cell phone to a girl named Alicia. He liked to read comics. He liked to stand in front of the fancy new vending machines and look at the candy.

Mostly, he liked to do nothing and by the end of the day, Taylor was over it.

“Earl!” he yelled from the guts of the Eagle’s second-best bus. When nothing happened, he bellowed, _“Earl!”_

This time Earl got the point—he came running across the big garage, cell in one hand, a Mars bar in the other. “Sorry. I was just…” Earl waved the candy like it explained everything.

“I thought I asked you to replace the heater filter.” He held up the filter; it was covered with grime and bugs. “Does this look replaced to you?”

“Oh,” Earl said, staring at the filter as if he’d never seen one before; by the looks of the filter, maybe he hadn’t. “Yeah, sorry.”

Earl’s hangdog look reminded Taylor of Marbles and his anger notched up. “Listen…” He absently tapped the filter on the hood of the bus; bits of hardened black soot fell to the floor. “I know you’re not into this job, but you gotta do it right. Someone could get killed if you don’t. Do you want that on your conscience?” He was exaggerating unless breathing problems could be considered, ‘dangerous.’ Earl didn’t need to know that.

“No.”

“Then do what I tell you to do. Starting with this…” He raised the filter. “And ending with that.” He nodded to the grease gun, on the floor next to the hydraulic lift. “I told you to put that away hours ago.”

Earl took the filter and held it to his chest. “Sorry. I’ll get right on it.”

He watched Earl skitter across the floor and pick up the grease gun, hitting the corner of the lift and bouncing off it with another muttered apology.

Shit.

Here he was, former muscle for Teddy Deserve and Benny Chains, made when he was just fourteen, working with a punk who didn’t deserve the name.

Taylor grunted, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and went outside.

The day had come and gone; he realized he was hungry and had been for the last few hours. It was kind of good, though, being busy, working with his hands and not his fists.

He took a drag, thinking about that when something caught his eye. He glanced to the right and then shook his head. He hadn’t quite forgotten the conversation with Matty but he’d tried so he shouldn’t be surprised to see the van, parked next to the Eagles’ third-best bus. Matty was always true to his word.

Taylor flicked his cigarette away and strolled over. He got out his keys, got in the van and started her up. The engine turned over sweetly, no lag, no hesitation. Good.

He was getting out when he saw the note, written in Matty’s neat, slanted handwriting: _Jim’s taking the crew out for dinner at the Mayflower. We’ll be there until seven or eight if you’re hungry._

That’s all it was, a weak invitation at best. Feeling almost guilty, Taylor balled up the note and tossed it over his shoulder.

***

It was half past eight when he rolled up to the house and shut off the engine.

He’d forgotten to turn on the porch light and the yard was darker than he would have expected. He got out of the van and stumbled over something, maybe a rock. “Shit,” he whispered even though there was no reason to whisper.

He went inside, turned on the light, half hoping that Matty would be waiting in the kitchen or in front of the new forty-two inch LCD he’d insisted on buying. But, no Matty, and Taylor stood there, wondering if he was mostly hungry or mostly tired.

It wasn’t a contest. He went to the kitchen, got the leftovers from the night before and a beer, then returned to the living room and threw himself on the couch.

He thumbed through the channels half-heartedly. It was one thing to have a new TV, another to have something to _watch_ and he scrolled through screen after screen of static before giving up. They were gonna have to find a way to get cable or maybe a satellite dish. He turned the TV off and ate while he thought of nothing.

He was still sprawled there, almost asleep, when Matty got home.

The door opened. “Taylor?”

He sat the plate on the coffee table. “In here.”

The door slammed.

“Hey,” Matty walked in, his body cutting the hall light. “What happened? I waited around for you.”

“Didn’t get done ‘til late.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. When I saw your note…” He gestured to the dark TV, hoping that said it all.

“Not in the mood, huh? Yeah,” Matty walked around the sofa and sat on the only chair in the room. “I wasn’t really, either, but when the boss asks…” He shrugged.

“That a cut meant at me?”

Matty leaned over and picked up Taylor’s beer. “Of course, not.” He took a long drink and then gave it to Taylor.

The glass was warm from Matty’s hand and he wondered if he put the rim to his lips, would it be warm from Matty’s lips? “Sorry.”

“Forget about it.”

“Next time, I’ll come.”

“That might be a while. Jim asked me to go out on the road with the team. We’ll be gone a week.”

Matty had warned him that the job would require traveling but Taylor had assumed that meant a day at the most, not some fucking week. But what did it matter? He wasn’t a kid that needed a sitter.

“I was thinking…” Matty added slowly. “The van is on its last legs. If you want, I’ll get you a truck.”

“So I can be a farmer? No thanks.”

Matty was quiet for a time, and then he said, “What’s with you?”

Taylor held his breath, held back the angry words. “Nothing.”

“I know the place isn’t your dream come true. I know you’re here because of me.”

“It’s all right.”

Matty was silent for another long while, and then he asked abruptly, “Do you miss Brooklyn? Is that it?”

Taylor pushed up and around until he was facing Matty. “How many times I gotta tell you? No, I don’t miss New York. No, I don’t miss Brooklyn. It’s just—”

“More of the same,” Matty interrupted with a slow nod. “Yeah, okay.”

They stared at each other and Taylor thought he could almost _see_ it, the thread of jumbled anger that was growing between them, getting longer and thicker each day, pushing them apart, making them _not_ Matty and Taylor.

He set the beer on the table; it made a dull, clinking sound. “I’m going to bed. I gotta get up early.”

He waited for the push back, the _‘We gotta talk,’_ but Matty just muttered, “Yeah. Okay.”

The tension held as Taylor got to his feet, as he climbed the stairs. By the time he was half way up, he was nothing but tired and felt like an asshole. He could go back down and apologize, but it was too much work; he’d deal with it later.

When they’d moved in, Matty had taken him upstairs and gestured to the long hallway, saying, _‘Your choice.’_

Taylor had thought about it, the pros and cons of front or back. He eventually chose the big room at the end of the hall. He’d always been a back-of-the-classroom kind of guy. Plus, he figured if anyone broke in, they’d use the back door, not the front; he could sneak up on them using the rear stairs.

He hadn’t had time to do much with the room—the walls needed painting because pale pink rose-covered wallpaper wasn’t really his style. The window on the south was cracked in several places and the floor needed resanding and varnishing. But the mattress was new and comfortable and that’s all he cared about.

Sleep was hard to come by. He was almost there when he heard the creaks he’d been waiting for—Matty, padding to his room just up the hall.

Taylor sighed. He’d been a jerk. He’d apologize in the morning.

***

Taylor didn’t get the chance to say he was sorry—when he shuffled downstairs the next morning, he found another note on the kitchen table next to a credit card: _‘Jim called and we’re leaving early. We’ll be back next week. I’m leaving my Visa in case you need anything. Hope that doesn’t piss you off.’_

The words were distant, rude even, and he read it again. When he was done, he started to ball it up like he had the other, but at the last second, he folded it carefully. He stuffed it and the card in his pocket.

***

The next few days were busy. Taylor quickly got the hang of the shop, the ins and outs of working with the team managers. It was fairly cut and dry. With Earl’s help, he performed a thorough inventory—for the most part, the previous shop manager had done a good job with the tools and equipment. There were a few things missing and he took care of all that, filling out requisition forms for the first time in his life. Buses, he found out, were similar to the average ride, but different enough that he felt the need to educate himself. He studied up on the mechanics at night at the kitchen table because the light was better there.

The only real problem turned out to be the office equipment that Jim had ordered, still sitting in the shipping boxes in Taylor’s office. He unpacked everything and set it all up where he thought it all should go but that was it. He knew the computer needed to connect to the monitor and somehow connect to the printer but he took one look at the manuals and threw them back in the boxes. Matty would know what to do with it all, but Matty was still on the road, so…

Taylor spent the fourth day changing the oil in the two buses. When he was done, he drove them outside for a wash. It was fun—even Earl got into it, laughing and acting like a fool. When they were done, dripping wet and smiling, Taylor made a spur-of-the moment decision and took Earl to an early dinner. It was the first time he’d ever done anything like that, and it weird but nice, being the guy that took an employee out for a meal.

Earl told Taylor how he’d wanted to join the air force but his grades sucked. He said his next choice had been the army but every time he talked about it, his mom freaked. So now he was looking into something with computers because everyone needed _those_ and his mom loved the idea.

Taylor didn’t have much advice to give; he just listened. When they went back to the garage, he led Earl to the office and pointed to the boxes and said, _‘What can you do with this crap?’_

Within an hour, Earl had everything connected and hooked up, turned on and registered. He printed out the registration receipts and gave them to Taylor with a shit-eating grin.

Taylor took the paper, the decision already made that come hell or high water, he wasn’t gonna let Fisher fire Earl. The kid was lazy but that didn’t mean he was a total write-off. He had something under that slacker exterior and it wasn’t just knowing how to use a keyboard.

In the days following, Taylor discovered that something had shifted between him and Earl. He found that he didn’t have to yell quite so loud to get Earl to hustle, that when he asked Earl to do something, he did it.

So, things got better but each night he went home to the lonely house, ate dinner in front of the blank TV and then went to bed soon after, wondering why he was still there _._

***

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Harve called up from below.

Taylor growled, “I know.” He tapped the rafter once more with his hammer, mostly in frustration.

“I said that soffit needed to come off first.”

“Harve,” Taylor said, keeping the shout from his voice, “I know. I’ll take care of it.”

“Well, come down and get some of that lemonade I brought over. You’ve been up there all morning.”

Taylor huffed because, yeah, he’d been on the ladder all morning trying to repair a roof that didn’t seem to want to be repaired.

He slipped the hammer into his pocket and began to descend, the ancient ladder creaking and moaning. He jumped the last few feet, landing with a thud.

“Sorry, son,” Harve said as he put his hands on his hips and stretched out his back.

“What’re you sorry for? You told me. I didn’t listen.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry.”

Taylor shook his head, unable to stop from smiling. He and Harve had been working on the house for four days, mostly doing the little stuff like new paint, stuck doors and broken windows. Harve had pulled his weight, never complaining, even when Taylor caught him one afternoon running hot water over his hands in an effort to ease his arthritis.

“Harve,” he said, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. “You make that lemonade yourself?”

Harve grinned. “What do you think?”

He cuffed Harve’s shoulder gently. “C’mon.”

***

They took their glasses to the front porch and sat on the steps. Neither said anything for a while and then Harve sighed. “You settling in all right?”

Taylor shrugged. “Yeah. We need more furniture and that refrigerator has got to go.”

“On its last legs, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll talk to Margie about it.”

“Hey…” He turned to Harve. “What’s your in with her?”

Harve cocked his head. “Excuse me?”

“Your _in_ ; why does she listen to you when she won’t listen to me or Matty?”

“Well, that’s simple—she’s my daughter.”

Huh. “She doesn’t look like you.”

“That’s because she takes after her mother.” Harve bobbed his head a couple times. “You’ll find we’re a tight knit group—there are a lot of cousins here, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” It had been like that in his old life, only it had been one big, not-so happy family.

Harve took a sip of lemonade and wiped his mouth. “When is Matty getting back?”

“In a day or so.” _‘In a day or so,’_ as if Taylor didn’t know exactly when Matty was coming home, as if lying to Harve made everything better.

“I heard they had a fortunate hiccup.”

“Yeah. Matty tagged another big sponsor. They flew out to Seattle to meet with them.” It had been a huge deal, capturing the notice of Starbucks and Matty had been almost crazy with excitement the night he’d called to tell Taylor that the team would be on the road at least another week. They’d been gone almost sixteen days, now.

“How’s the trip going?” Harve set his glass down. “In general?”

“Who knows?” Another lie; like clockwork, Matty called every night at six. The conversations were short, awkward, and Taylor looked forward to them more than he should.

“That’s good,” Harve murmured, and then, more abruptly, “So, you’re happy here? You’re settled here in Elizabeth?”

He frowned and gave Harve a sidelong glare. “Harve, say what you’re not saying.”

Harve took off his Eagles ball cap, wiped the brim with his handkerchief, then tugged it back on. “It’s just when you first got here, you were like a cornered tiger, looking for the nearest exit.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t remember feeling that—he just remembered being worried that Matty was gonna get turned down like before.

Harve nodded. “One foot out the door. I figured you’d last a week, maybe two, but look at you, almost a month in and you’re still here.”

He liked Harve but he wasn’t in love with the guy so there was no reason to be so offended, right? “Why’s that such a surprise?”

“Because you’re a big city guy. Now Matty…” Harve waved his hand. “He fits in. He’s a sweet kid. Everybody loves him and he’s already earned his salary with that Pepsi contract.”

Still stuck on the idea of Matty being a ‘sweet kid,’ Taylor answered absently, “And?” It was sort of true—Matty had a kind of sweetness about him, a gentleness his father and Teddy had tried to beat out of him more than a few times.

“And—” Harve stopped talking and sighed. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. Margie said to keep out of it; I should have listened to her.”

That got his attention—there were few things Taylor hated more than being talked about. “Harve, if you don’t come clean, I’m gonna—” He shut his mouth tight, almost clenching his jaw.

Harve smiled sadly. “Gonna what, son? Hit me? Knock out my teeth out so I can’t speak?”

He shook his head, stomach churning.

“Taylor,” Harve murmured kindly, “I know you’re not going to hurt me. You’re not that kind of man even though I know what kind of work you used to do.”

He put his glass down, worried he might break it. “Who told you?”

“No one had to _tell_ me,” Harve retorted. “Just look at you—everyone is afraid of you because they see the see thing I do, only most of them don’t know what that is.”

Even with the protection of the porch roof, the air was burning hot. Taylor could feel sweat break out on his forehead. “And what is _that,_ Harve?”

“I imagine it had something to do with working for people you shouldn’t have been working for. And using those…” Harve nodded to Taylor’s hands. “…to hurt people.”

“Maybe those people needed hurting.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t.”

There was another long pause and then Taylor managed to say through stiff lips, “You gonna tell them?” He didn’t know why it mattered, what the people of Elizabeth thought of him—he’d always known what he was; he’d never been ashamed of it.

“As long as you keep your nose clean, it’s none of their business. I’m not worried.”

Taylor shrugged, stifling the _‘thanks,’_ that burned his mouth.

“I like you,” Harve added with an even sadder smile. “Earl likes you. But as far as the rest of the town is concerned, you’re a frightening, six-foot enigma, a ghost. You don’t talk to anyone when you go to the grocery store, you haven’t made any friends. The only time you open your mouth is when Matty asks you something. We’ve all seen it.”

With an suddenness that startled even him, Taylor got to his feet. He needed to move, needed to give way to the almost volcanic anger and outrage that burned his throat. “I’m not here to make friends, Harve.”

Harve raised his hand. “Then let me ask you this—if Matty stays here, I mean _really_ stays here, how are you gonna survive?”

“You want me to leave? Get out so those _people…”_ He jabbed his finger south, towards town and everything he didn’t want. “…can feel more _comfortable?”_ He was shouting, his voice echoing off the porch.

Harve raised both hands as he leaned forward. “Of course not. You mistake my meaning. Or I,” he added, “am really bad at this.” He took a breath, then sighed and settled back. “All I’m saying is a man can’t be a ghost in his own life, Taylor. That’s all. And I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Harve was watching him steadily, almost like Matty had all those weeks ago and it hit like a fist, the one thought leading to another…

All those times Matty had asked, _‘Are you okay?’_ and, _‘If it’s okay with you?’…_

Had Matty been trying to tell Taylor the same thing? That if he was gonna stay, he needed to be happy? That he should leave if he wasn’t?

“Taylor?”

He nodded shortly. “I’m okay, Harve. I just need to do some thinking.”

“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

He glanced down. Harve was frowning, hands clasped together. “No,” he said, making his mouth curve up in a smile that was probably as fake as it seemed. “I’m not, but I want to go for a drive. We’ll fix the soffit later.”

“The hell we will,” Harve scolded. “I’m not going to have that roof leak just because you’ve realized a few things and your epiphany has got you in a tizzy.” Harve stood up, using the railing for support. “Besides, it looks like our draught is over—we’re supposed to get our first thunderstorm tonight and it’s gonna be a doozy.”

Taylor squeezed his fists. He was still angry, almost stiff with it; usually this was about the time he charged. But Harve was gazing up at him as if he knew what was going on inside Taylor’s head and like a balloon losing air, the anger evaporated. His arms felt weak, his hands empty. He reached for Harve’s glass, growling through a weird kind of relief, “So now you’re a fortune teller?”

“No,” Harve replied with a smartass grin. “I just watch the Weather Channel.”

***

The sun was almost down by the time Taylor finished with the rafters and soffit. He ran his fingers along the edge of the new gutter, pleased by the work. It could rain buckets, even drop three feet of snow and that roof wouldn’t leak.

“Looks good,” Harve called out.

“It should—it took long enough.” He climbed down, taking care to step lightly on the rungs. “I’m going to the hardware store tomorrow and get you a new ladder.”

Harve stuck his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels. “Make it that fifteen-foot aluminum telescoping puppy that’s on the end of the aisle and you got a deal.”

Taylor smirked. “Been waiting for me to kill myself on this one?”

“Pretty much.”

He shook his head. “Harve, for you, anything.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder.

Harve patted his arm. “You did good, kid. That roof is gonna hold no matter what. And now…” He sighed and stretched, wincing a little. “I’m going to go home and take a long, hot bath.”

“You want some Tylenol? We’ve got some in the house.” He led the way around the house to Harve’s truck.

“No, thanks. A hot bath and a whiskey will do me just fine.”

“If you’re sure.” He placed the ladder in the bed of the truck, more delicately than the piece of junk deserved.

Harve climbed into the truck. “I’m sure.”

Taylor shut the door for Harve gently, worried that slamming it would jar the truck and make Harve’s arthritis worse. “I’m gonna get going on the upstairs rooms tomorrow. You mind if I stop by your place and get some paint?”

Harve started the truck and smiled up at Taylor. “Don’t mind a bit. Hey—” Harve leaned out the window. “You want to come into town for dinner? Margie’s making meatloaf.”

He looked up at the house and back at Harve. For the first time, Matty hadn’t called at six and it was stupid, the worry that was knotting up his gut. “Maybe some other time.”

“Sure.” Harve nodded slowly. “Some other time.”

Taylor stepped back from the truck. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Harve pulled away and the truck rattled down the dirt road.

Taylor watched him go, then returned to the backyard.

He picked up the mess, making sure he got all the nails and big splinters of wood. He threw it away in the garbage can and went to look at the barn.

It was about the same age as the house, a hundred or so years, but in much worse shape. It would take a hell of a lot of work to repair it, maybe a new cross beam, definitely new rafters, a new roof and a whole lot of planks for the walls. It might not even be worth it. Matty was pretty much sold on the place but for how long? Contrary to what Harve thought, if the team did well, Matty would probably move on and up—he was ambitious like that.

Taylor picked up a length of rotted wood. If that happened, if Matty decided to move on, what choice would _he_ make? Ambition, the need to make more money, have more things—that meant nothing to him.

But if things went the way they were going, would he and Matty just drift apart until they were two different guys living in two different worlds? It was happening already.

He ran his hand over his head, not liking the familiar route his thoughts had traveled so quickly. He tossed the wood into the garbage can and turned to the house. He’d shower, then go for that drive.

***

Taylor was just finishing up in the shower, sluicing water off his chest, when he heard a muffled bang, loud footsteps, and then, “Taylor? You in there?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

Heart hammering, Taylor turned the water off and scrambled out of the claw-foot tub. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips and hurried out just as Matty rushed into the bedroom.

Matty almost slid to a stop. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Matty was wearing his new gray suit and a new blue Oxford that he must have bought on the road. He’d unbuttoned the shirt and loosened his tie. His eyes were shadowed which meant he hadn’t been sleeping and his cheeks were hollow which meant he hadn’t been eating, but he looked so fucking good and it had been sixteen days and all Taylor could do was stand there, staring like a complete moron.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” Matty said, gesturing vaguely. “When I found out we were leaving early, I just…” He rubbed his hands together, a nervous gesture that Taylor recognized from long ago. “I stopped by the shop first.”

“I gave Earl the day off seeing it’s our three-week anniversary.”

Matty grinned and relaxed, leaning against the doorjamb. He glanced around the room. “I should have gotten you flowers.”

Weeks ago, a comment like that would have had Taylor rolling his eyes. Now? Now, he didn’t know what to say and he gripped the towel tighter. “You mean _Earl_ should have gotten me flowers.”

“Yeah,” Matty said, his smile fading. “Anyway, I’m going back out again. I’m meeting the team for dinner and was hoping you could come. I mean…” Matty shrugged. “If you’re not too busy or anything.”

A quick refusal was on the tip of Taylor’s tongue but he suddenly heard it again: _‘A man can’t be a ghost in his own life…’_ Only this time the words didn’t make him angry, didn’t make him want to lash out.

“It’s okay—” Matty started to say, pushing away from the doorjamb.

Taylor took a step forward. “No, it’s fine. I’ll go.”

Matty’s face brightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry anyway.”

Matty tapped the jamb with his thumb and then looked around the room once more. “I gotta shower. Be ready in twenty minutes? We’ll take the SUV.” Matty’s gaze dropped, skating over Taylor’s body, lightning quick.

Taylor told himself not to swallow. “Sure, whatever.”

“Yeah,” Matty said absently. “Great. The place looks amazing by the way. I’m gonna help this weekend.”

And then Matty was gone and Taylor was left there, feeling like he’d just been in a shootout, ears still ringing from the gunfire, heart still beating like a drum.

***

Matty, sprawled out on the SUV’s seat, babbled the whole way into town. He motored on about work, how much he loved it and how great it was to be finally _listened_ to. He said that everyone loved the girls and they were amazing athletes but maybe the club needed a woman or two in management ’cause it was kind of fucked, a bunch of guys telling women that were a lot stronger and faster than they were how to play ball.

As always, Taylor nodded and hummed where needed, trying to keep track of the conversation, really only paying attention to Matty’s leg, so close to the gear shift. It would be so easy to pretend to reach out to change gears only to grasp Matty’s thigh instead…

He sweated it out, the compulsion, and it was almost a relief pulling up to the Mayflower and finding one of the assistant coaches arriving at the same time. The small talk gave Taylor a moment to calm down and by the time they were inside, he was almost okay.

Fisher was waiting for them at a long table in the center of the dining room. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Taylor, but recovered quickly, holding out his hand. “Taylor. It’s great seeing you.”

Taylor shook Fisher’s hand, then looked around. The team was there along with the coaches and assistant coaches. It was his first opportunity to meet the women. They didn’t—as Matty had said weeks ago—look all that tough, but what did looks tell you? When he was a kid, the toughest guy on the block had been a ninety-five pound weakling named Knuckles and if it hadn’t been for Glueless and a careless bullet, Knuckles would probably still be around, kicking ass.

Matty made the introductions, running through the names quickly. Taylor forgot most of them, remembering only Cissie Ramirez, a tall girl that looked like she could give Knuckles a run for his money.

When the introductions were done, Matty found seats for the two of them by asking one of the coaches to move over. Taylor caught the sidelong glances, but he sat next to Matty anyway, saying a silent _fuck you_ to whoever was bothered.

While they were waiting for their drinks, there was the usual boring chitchat. Matty and Fisher carried most of it, discussing the trip and the connections they’d made. Taylor ended up talking with a few of the girls, discussing the finer points of football. They were surprised to find that he’d never played in high school or college. He was, according to Cissie, built for it. He answered that it was hard to make practice when you were constantly in the principal’s office. By the _ah-ha_ looks on their faces, they got the not-so-subtle message.

Dinner came and the conversation died back for a while. Taylor kept his head down, occasionally glancing up when someone walked through the front door, a habit he wasn’t going to lose any time soon. But, still, most of his attention was on Matty—the heat of Matty’s body, the pressure of his arm when he accidentally brushed against Taylor, the way he kept glancing sideways when he thought Taylor wasn’t looking.

The girls and one of the assistant managers left around ten, saying they were tired from the long trip and they’d see everyone on Monday. Cissie paused at Taylor’s chair, inviting him to practice. Aware of Matty’s gaze, he’d said sure. She gave him a smile as well as the day and time and then followed her teammates. That left Fisher, the rest of the dead weight, and him and Matty.

Like it was his cue, Fisher started asking questions about the shop, if Taylor had everything he needed, if everything was going okay. The next thing Taylor knew, he was telling Fisher to ease up on Earl, that the kid wasn’t quite the fuck-up everyone thought. He hadn’t meant to say anything in front of the others but apparently he was taking Harve’s words truly the fuck to heart.

While he and Fisher talked it out, Matty leaned back, his arm stretched over the back of Taylor’s chair, a small smile on his lips. It wasn’t anything, a gesture any guy would make, but it got the eyes googling again and Taylor wanted to sneer.

As he calmly finished his, _‘Leave Earl the fuck alone,’_ speech, he followed Matty’s example, relaxing back in his chair, pushing it a little by leaning into Matty instead of away.

“So you really want to keep him on?” Fisher asked doubtfully.

“Yeah, I do.” Taylor shrugged. “At least part time. He wants to go back to school and major in IT.” He really didn’t know what IT was, just that Earl kept saying it was the career of the future, so he figured it had something to do with computers or the internet.

Fisher’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? He never mentioned it to me.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been talking, me and him. He thinks it’s a good idea and so do I.”

Fisher nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. If we keep getting the contracts we got this week…” He had the balls to wink at Matty. “…then, we’re going to need a new stadium and these days if you don’t have great graphics, you’re not a player.”

Taylor could give a fuck about Fisher being a player and what the hell were graphics? but he suddenly wanted the club to be a success. If the club was a success, it meant Matty would be a success. Even with all his, _‘We can just move on to the next name on the list,’_ bullshit, he really wanted that for Matty.

So he cleared his throat and muttered, “It would help if you offered him some sort of scholarship or incentive.”

One of the coaches, a man named Bill somebody or other, actually snorted. “Incentive?” he mocked, like he was surprised that Taylor knew the word. “Are you crazy? We’re not UCLA—we’ve got a budget to meet.”

And just like that the mood turned ugly. Beside him, Matty shifted restlessly. Taylor shot him a glance, and yeah, Matty was pissed, the contentment gone. He leaned sideways, saying silently, _‘Relax. He’s an asshole and you know how much I_ _care about assholes.’_

Matty got the message, but still, he spoke up, “Take it out of my salary. The tuition can’t be that much. We can add a clause to the contract stating that Earl has to remain with the Eagles for a number of years after graduation.”

Fisher gave Bill Somebody a long look, then turned to Matty. “You’d be willing to do that, give up part of your pay for Earl?”

“Sure.”

Bill Somebody shook his head. “And what about next year? How do we know you’re not going to back out?”

Matty withdrew his arm and sat straight up. He had that look Taylor had seen too many times—anger and hostility hiding frustration and disappointment.

It was one thing to take crap from Benny Chains, an entirely different thing to take it from this fuck and before Matty could open his mouth, Taylor planted both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “The one thing you gotta know about Matty Demaret is that when he says he’s gonna do something, he’s gonna do it. Don’t matter if it’s today, tomorrow or five fucking years from now, it’s gonna happen.”

That shut Bill Somebody up. It shut the whole table up and Taylor added with a shrug, “Take the deal. You won’t be sorry.”

“Jim,” Matty began, shooting a troubled look Taylor’s way. “I—”

Fisher waved his hand. “No, don’t worry about it, Matt. He’s right—you haven’t steered us wrong so far. But let’s wait on the salary cut. I’m sure I can get the city council to agree to paying Earl’s tuition—after all,” he added with a growing smile, “it’s like robbing Peter to pay Paul considering he’d be going to our technical college.”

Everyone but Bill Somebody smiled in response. Bill was still glaring and that meant he was gonna be trouble. Taylor couldn’t bring himself to care—he was still reeling from Fisher’s, _‘Matt.’_

“Well,” Fisher said as he stood up. “It’s getting late. Thanks for all your hard work this week.” He looked around the table. “Get some rest tomorrow—you’re gonna need it if this guy has anything to say about it.” He jerked his thumb at Matty and everyone, including Bill Somebody, laughed.

“Hey,” Matty whispered while everyone began with the usual leaving motions. “Hang out here for a minute—I gotta go piss.”

Taylor nodded. Matt.

_Matt._

As soon as Fisher and friends left, the atmosphere in the place changed. Tension draining away, Taylor listened to the soft clink of glass on glass as the bartender cleared the tables, to the low, soothing background music. If Chris were here, he’d be able to tell Taylor what the name of the song was. Of course, if Chris were here, he wouldn’t _be_ here—he would’ve talked one or more of the girls into going home with him hours ago.

“What’s up with you?” Matty asked as soon as he got back from the men’s room. “Why the long face?”

Taylor shrugged. “Just thinking about Scarpa.”

And yeah, that was another mood killer—Matty’s expression changed and his smile dropped away. “I miss him.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m tired. Let’s get outta here.”

“Yeah.”

***

The drive to the house was quiet.

Harve had called it on the weather. While they’d been inside, clouds had built up, a low hanging mass of black and blue that played show and tell with the moon. In the distance and off to the east, lightning skittered back and forth.

Taylor wasn’t fond of thunderstorms. In fact, he was mostly fucking terrified of them. Only Matty knew how much and as they drove through the dark, he could feel the pressure from above, like a hand holding him down.

Matty, though, didn’t seem to mind. One foot on the dash, he stared out the window and smoked a cigarette. Taylor wanted to ask if he was okay, but the words wouldn’t come.

They were almost home, the house’s porch light a tiny beacon in the distance, when Matty said quietly, “Back at the restaurant, I thought you were gonna reach across the table and pop Bill.”

“I was.”

“He’s Jim’s right-hand man.”

“He’s a douchebag.”

“Yeah, he is,” Matty agreed with a shrug. “But he’s also good at what he does. The players like him. Jim likes him.”

“That so, _Matt?”_ He turned onto their lane and began the climb up the hill.

Matty frowned and straightened up, turning to face Taylor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When does _any_ one call you _Matt_?” Taylor’s fingers clenched until he was gripping the steering wheel, white knuckled. “Your name is Matty _._ Always has been, always will be.”

“What is this?”

He shook his head, like it shake off the heavy anger, the sense that something bad was coming.

“Seriously, Taylor, what the fuck is it, ‘cause I know it’s something.”

Lightning flashed above and he had to stop himself from ducking. “It’s nothing.”

“The fuck it is—” Matty stubbed out the cigarette. “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

Taylor had no time to answer—a rumble of thunder shook the air. It was followed by another streak of lightning, another clap of thunder that sounded like a freight train. “We’re gonna get fried out here,” he said over the rumbling echoes. He gave the SUV some gas; just then the clouds opened up.

Harve had warned that it was gonna rain, but he hadn’t said it was gonna _pour._ Sheets and sheets, turning the dirt road to slick mud within seconds.

_“Fuck,”_ Taylor snarled as the car slid, then slid again. He eased up on the gas and they straightened out only to slip a third time, this time off the road.

“You think we should run for it?” Matty asked over the clamor of the rain on the roof of the car.

They were only halfway up the hill. The house was within sight, but lightning was bouncing all over the place. “Let me try one more time,” Taylor muttered as he downshifted and crept back on the road, moving sideways but up.

They almost made it. As Taylor topped the hill, the house maybe fifty feet away, the SUV lurched sideways. He gave it some gas, but no go—the right rear wheel was stuck firmly in a rut. He cut the engine and pulled the keys out of the ignition, then looked at Matty. “You ready?” he shouted over rain and thunder.

Matty nodded and grabbed the door handle.

Taylor shoved the keys into his jeans, then nodded, _“Go!”_

They ran, stumbling through the deep mud and water, sliding and slipping while lighting arced over their heads. They were just about to the trees when a bolt hit, so close it shook the ground.

Matty hissed, _“Fuck!”_ and lost his balance, going down on one knee.

Taylor skidded to a stop, took one long step back, grabbed Matty’s coat and dragged him to his feet, running again, across the yard, up and onto the porch.

They slammed into the screen door as one, panting and swearing.

“Holy fuck. Holy _fuck—_ ” Matty muttered like it was a mantra.

Taylor wanted to laugh, he wanted to growl. Mostly he wanted to stay there forever, spread fingers across Matty’s back, feeling his ribcage expand and contract. He took a deep breath and then made himself let go, made himself step back.

Matty looked over his shoulder, breath hard, eyes wide and blank.

He jerked his thumb. “I’m gonna check on the roof.”

“You won’t be able to see anything.”

“I gotta make sure it’s okay.”

“Taylor—”

“I’ll be back.” He strode across the porch and jumped off it to land in the soft mud. The going wasn’t bad—the overhang sheltered most of the path and the trees did the rest. But, yeah, it was stupid coming out here in the dark because there was nothing to see, just black on black. He went back the way he came.

In the few minutes he’d been gone, Matty had gone inside. Taylor paused at the door.

Any exhaustion he might have felt was gone, washed away by anger, the brief run and the terror he didn’t like owning up to. So he wasn’t tired but he was somehow _tired_ and the idea of going inside that big house with its too many rooms and too much quiet seemed impossible.

Just as impossible was the idea that he could step off this porch, get in the van and head south and then east. Back to the interstate, back to Brooklyn and the only life he’d ever known.

More of the same and less of the same, and it was too much right now. He bent down, unlaced his boots and toed them off. They were caked with mud so he left them on the porch, not wanting to mess up the hall. Inside, the kitchen light was on, but he knew without having to see that Matty had gone to bed.

Taylor locked and bolted the door, then padded down the hall to the kitchen and checked the back door. He turned off the kitchen lights, then the hall lights and went upstairs.

The flight of steps wasn’t long but as he climbed, the risers felt ten feet tall; by the time he got to the second floor it was as if he’d taken on Everest and the weight was back, this time like an anvil, not a hand.

He slowed down at Matty’s room. The door was closed and that was good—even though they’d solved nothing, even though the anger was still there, simmering, biding its time, it was okay to take a breather.

When Taylor got to his room, he reached for the overhead. And then froze because Matty wasn’t in his own room—he was ten feet away, sitting in the chair, elbows on knees, hands clasped together.

The bad thing Taylor had thought he’d dodged was right in front of him but he couldn’t move, could only mutter, “Hey.”

Matty didn’t stir. He gazed up at Taylor, squinting like his eyes hurt. “What’s wrong with you?”

Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was the dark, maybe it was being stuck in corn land even though it was mostly soybeans and not corn.

Or maybe it was none of those things because Taylor found himself grabbing the door, snarling, “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with _me?”_ The doorjamb creaked under the pressure of his grip. “I’m not the one with the problem. I’m not the one—”

He cut off the words and stuffed them back in his throat, because: _I’m not the one. I’m still the same person, only you’re not. You fit in with these whiter than white people with their plaid shirts and khaki pants and cookie-cutter houses. You fit in and I don’t and even though I knew that going in, somehow I didn’t and I’m so fucking tired of it all._

Words he couldn’t say because he wasn’t sure if they were honest even though he felt like he’d been bottling them up for forever. “You know what’s wrong.”

Matty opened his mouth and drew a breath. But he didn’t accuse and he didn’t ask—his eyes narrowed and he said in a low, low voice, “You know what I know, Taylor? What I’ve known all these _weeks_?”

Taylor answered, his voice just as low, just as mean, “What?”

“I know that every time I came back to that piece of crap motel or the house I thought I’d find you gone.” Matty laughed, or tried to. “Every fucking day. And even after you _stayed,_ I gave you out after out, hoping you’d make up your mind ‘cause you’re not happy here, don’t try to tell me you are because I know that, too.”

Lightning with no thunder lit up the bedroom. “Don’t talk to _me_ about waiting, Matty,” he snarled. “I’ve been waiting, playing nice with those fucking assholes, and I’m fucking _done.”_

He wasn’t sure what ‘fucking assholes’ he was talking about. Benny Chains, Teddy, Fisher—they were all cut from the same cloth and his voice was shaking and he hoped like hell Matty hadn’t heard it. He’d faced tough guys that had wanted him dead and he’d never felt whatever it was he felt now—anger laced with fury. Exhaustion mixed with a bone-deep weariness. A want so big it made him dizzy and a little sick.

“That mean you’re leaving?”

“Do you want me to?”

He expected an instant, ‘no,’ but what he got was silence.

Matty got to his feet, moving like he was as old as his dad and even though it was dark, Taylor could see his eyes, stark and hopeless and Taylor remembered…

…sitting on the roof of that ice cream shack in Wi-thefuck-baux, shoulder and hip pressed against Matty’s, disgusted with the whole thing but needing to put anger and emotion aside because he had a job to do and it was important that Matty came through it alive, because that was the job, too.

_…there’s nobody wouldn’t hurt you if it helped them._

That’s what he’d said. He’d said it and he’d meant it. Only he hadn’t meant Matty, hadn’t meant _them…_

Maybe that was something Matty hadn’t understood, if Matty’d been waiting for him to up and leave.

Taylor let go of the doorjamb, making his fingers release one by one. He took a step into the room, “I’m not going anywhere,” he muttered. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Matty nodded, a jerk of his head like one of those jack-in-the-box toys. And then he did something completely un-Matty like—he wrapped his arms tight around his chest and shifted from side to side. “Good. That’s good.” Another side to side and then a rapid-fire, “Taylor. I gotta ask you something.”

On edge because Matty was acting so weird, Taylor answered a cautious, “What?”

“That thing that Harvey talked to you about back when we first got here.” Matty tried a quick smile that didn’t make it to his eyes. “You know, about us being a thing?”

“What about it?”

“You told me it didn’t bother you but I wanted to know—” Matty broke off and said it again, “I wanted—” He stopped talking once more and then laughed. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, uncurling enough to scrub at his jaw. “Never mind,” he added with another fake laugh. “It’s nothing.”

Taylor stilled, his brain trying to play catch up because he’d seen this look before, generally on some lowlife who’d pissed him off and was trying to get away without also getting a beating. The nervous patter, the fidgety stance; Matty wasn’t a lowlife but he was back peddling for all he was worth and—

And shit.

_‘You told me it didn’t bother you but I wanted to know—’_

and,

_‘That mean you’re leaving?’_ Said in that blank way like Matty didn’t care about the answer. Or like he was dreading the answer.

What had Harve called it? An epiphany?

“Are you asking me—” Taylor shrugged uneasily; his heart was pounding slow and thick. “What are you asking me, Matty?” he added with a fractured smile ’cause it was make it or break it time and he needed to be sure.

Matty swallowed. “I—”

Taylor was never certain, later, what would have happened if nature hadn’t intervened. Probably Matty going back to his own room and shutting the door. Maybe not, but probably.

Lucky for him nature was a crazy bitch and lightning flashed the same time the thunder crashed. The house shook, the fucking _floor_ shook and Taylor jerked, unable to stop the embarrassing flinch.

“It’s okay,” Matty said, suddenly right there, all concern, his hand on Taylor’s arm. “We’re safe in here.”

The house was still trembling or maybe it was Taylor. He wanted to laugh off his embarrassment because he wasn’t a snot-nosed kid; he covered Matty’s hand instead.

Matty’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. He lunged.

Stumbling back they both went, slamming into the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

Matty didn’t pause, didn’t ask Taylor if it was okay—he pressed a fumbling, messy kiss on Taylor’s mouth.

Taylor took it, the kiss. Jammed up against the ugly floral wallpaper like an idiot, wanting to move but kind of frozen, his useless brain struggling to catch up to what his body already knew.

Matty, though, read Taylor’s paralysis as something else. With a muttered _“Shit,”_ he stepped back and wiped his mouth, his eyes still wide, only this time with a diamond-cut shame. “Taylor, I—”

Taylor growled and grabbed Matty and then spun around so it was Matty up against the wall, Matty that was being kissed and kissed.

Matty groaned and curled a leg around Taylor’s thigh, hands gripping his coat, sliding under his hoodie, palms cold on his belly and back, searching… “Taylor,” Matty muttered against Taylor’s mouth. “Jesus…”

Taylor opened his mouth to say, _‘Jesus ain’t here, it’s just me,’_ but just then Matty touched his dick with his long, long fingers. Lightning of a different streaked up Taylor’s spine; he groaned and bit Matty’s throat.

“Ah, _fuck.”_ Matty tipped his head back to give Taylor room. _“Shit—”_

Off with the wet sports coat, the yuppy polo shirt and pants. Matty was so warm under all those ugly clothes, smooth and warm and tasting like rain.

“Taylor—” Matty cradled Taylor’s head, guiding down and… “There,” he groaned when Taylor licked and bit a nipple. _“Christ.”_

They didn’t bother with everything.

Taylor let go of Matty long enough to rip off his coat and hoodie. He let Matty help with the rest, dragging his jeans and shorts down just enough, and then he was back on Matty, lifting him up even though they were almost the same height and it didn’t matter anyway ‘cause his dick had found its place and his brain switched…

…off, just like in a street fight, a rush of _there_ and _yes_ and _fuck,_ everything moving double time and he was all response, all animal instinct, and it was so—

Matty fisted Taylor’s dick. Matty breathed, “Taylor.”

—so fucking good. Matty felt so fucking good and heat built at the base of Taylor’s spine, forcing the anger and desire up and out, leaving only the wordless repetition, _Come on, Matty, c’mon…_

_***_

“You okay?”

Taylor huffed a breath and nodded, face still buried in the crook of Matty’s neck. The storm had moved off again; the rain was a steady beat against the windows and roof.

“Taylor?”

He nosed under Matty’s jaw, smile growing when Matty shivered and tightened his grip. “I’m fine but you gotta get out of those clothes. You’re cold.”

“I’m not.”

“Matty,” he retorted because he could feel Matty shaking and it wasn’t because of the sex.

“Yeah, okay.”

Taylor pushed away.

Matty was flat against the wall like he had no strength, red mouth slightly open, watching Taylor with slitted eyes that looked bruised and happy and totally fucked. “Taylor—”

“Don’t even start.” Taylor shook his head because he was too tired for guilt, Catholic or Jewish or otherwise. “We’re gonna get these wet clothes off and then we’re gonna dry off and then you’re gonna get in my bed and sleep with me. I don’t know if we’re gonna fuck again or not, but it don’t matter. Right?”

As he was speaking, Matty had slowly straightened up. Now he stood there, pants and shorts around his thighs, jizz on his belly, cool as a cucumber. “I was just gonna say we’re gonna need to replaster the wall, thanks to you,” Matty answering, jerking his head.

Taylor looked and then felt—the wall had a couple fist-sized dents in the wallpaper. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Matty said, still coolly. “You sorta lost it.”

He watched silently as Matty pulled his pants up. “Me?” he said, trying for outrage, managing only a pleased grin as he jabbed his thumb at the bite mark on his left pectoral. “Who was biting who?”

Matty was too easy—his expression softened and he shook his head. He reached out and touched the mark. “I’m sorry.”

Taylor sighed. “Like I care? Go on. Get those clothes off.”

***

Matty took a shower in his room, saying it was the only way he was gonna get warm.

Taylor let him go without a word. He knew Matty was mostly lying. Fucking a guy against a wall was a completely different thing from sleeping with that same guy in a bed. One could be chalked up as an accident or just one of those things. The other…?

He stripped and hung his wet clothes on the rim of the tub, then dried off. Stroking his jaw, he thought about shaving and brushing his teeth. He did neither—it was way too late for both and Matty hadn’t seemed to care, anyway. The thought brought on another and Taylor remembered that his father had always had a five o’clock shadow by the time he got home at three.

When he was a youngster, his dad would rub their cheeks together, making him squeal with laughter. After his dad had shaved, he’d do the same thing, his cheeks smooth and silky, smelling of aftershave. Even now, twenty-three long years later, the smell of Aqua Velva still made Taylor sick.

He frowned, turned off the bathroom light and then climbed into bed. Using the two pillows for support, he sat back, elbows on raised knees.

His mom had always said he needed to treasure memories, even the ones that brought him pain. Which meant he should be rich, right? Memories of his dad taking off in the dead of night because he’d stolen from the wrong piggy bank. Memories of his mom, dying of Lupus in that hell hole because her insurance had run out and he was too young to be of any use to the big guys.

So, yeah, he should be fucking—

“Hey.”

He looked up. Matty was standing in the doorway. His hair was slicked back and he was holding a blanket and pillows.

Matty raised the pillows. “I wasn’t sure if you had enough.”

Matty was wearing briefs and nothing else; Taylor knew some girls who would kill for legs that long and sexy. Heart in his throat, he drew the sheet and comforter back and patted the mattress.

Like he was walking across a glass-filled street, Matty tiptoed over. He tossed the pillows on the bed and threw the blanket over the foot and sat down on the edge, half on, half off. “This is weird,” he muttered, his voice tight. “The last time we had a sleepover was when I was fifteen or something.”

It was true—plus five hundred fights or no, having a mostly naked Matty within arm’s reach _was_ weird, like Taylor was back to being his unsure, teenaged self. “Yeah,” he said, reassuring them both, even though Matty couldn’t know that. “But it’s just us, right?”

Matty looked over his shoulder. Whatever he saw in Taylor’s face must have convinced him because he smiled and slid under the covers. “Yeah,” he said, watching Taylor with those dark eyes. “It’s just us.” He reached up and tugged on Taylor’s arm.

Taylor let himself be tugged down until he was flat on his back.

“So, you’re okay with this?” Matty muttered.

“Yeah.”

“They’ll think we were lying to them.”

He didn’t have to ask who ‘they’ were. “Who cares? It’s none of their business.” He needed to tell Matty what Harve had said about Elizabeth not being Wyoming and he would, but later.

Matty didn’t say anything and the silence grew, heavy, clumsy. Taylor wasn’t sure what to do—if Matty was a girl, they’d have sex again and then he’d turn on his side and go to sleep. But Matty wasn’t a girl and if felt wrong to just fall asleep, even if he could manage it. Matty was probably thinking the same thing because that stare of his was gonna burn holes in the ceiling.

Finally, because it was almost stupid, the way they were acting, Taylor muttered, “Can I ask you something?”

Matty turned his head. “Of course you can.”

“How long…?” He gestured to the bed, to them.

Matty gave Taylor an odd smile, like he was in pain or something. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Since forever. Since we were kids.”

And, yeah, pain ‘cause that almost hurt, those words, the idea that he could’ve had this, could’ve had _Matty_ all those years ago.

Matty turned on his side and tucked his arm under the pillow. “Remember that fall when I changed prep schools?”

Taylor nodded. He’d just turned fourteen and Matty was going on twelve. Benny Chains was in the clink and Teddy had slithered into Matty’s life, taking over like he was the big boss. The first change Teddy had made was to get Matty from what he’d called the ‘riff-raff.’ Meaning different school so Matty could have different friends. Different all right—Matty had left and come back a different kid, quiet and withdrawn.

“I got used to it, but at first I hated it so much.” Matty closed his eyes. “Missing home, missing my mom and you.” He opened his eyes. “Chris and his dad came to see me one day. Chris had been messing around with one of the Morello girls and his dad had to get him out of town for a while.”

“Typical.”

“Yeah,” Matty agreed absently. “So, they visit and Mr. Scarpa has to go talk with the admission’s people. He tells us to go get lunch but what we really did…” Matty cracked a grin. “…was go shakedown some of the seniors in an off-the-books game.”

“Typical,” he muttered again, only this time he reached out and stroked Matty’s chin with his thumb. It earned him a quick smile.

“After the game, me and Chris went to the lake and sat on a bench and talked. He told me how everyone was doing, how Marbles had gotten busted for smoking pot and how you got expelled ‘cause some kid had stolen your lunch money and you beat him up.”

“Bobby Cimino, yeah.” He remembered like it had happened yesterday—the anger, the surge of triumph after he’d knocked the much taller Bobby to the ground.

“Chris said that Marbles said that everyone just stood around and watched, even when Bobby’s friends joined in and rushed you.” Matty reached out and laid a light hand on Taylor’s ribs. “That’s when I knew.”

“You mean you got off on hearing me being beaten up?”

It was meant to be a joke but Matty just shook his head, still serious. “No, it made me crazy, knowing no one had your back, that you were all alone. I sat there listening to Chris, looking across the water and thinking that it wouldn’t take much to blow the joint, get on a bus or train so I could get back to you. Afterwards, I started to, you know…” He rubbed Taylor’s ribs with his thumb. “I knew it was wrong, the feelings I was feeling, but I couldn’t make them stop. ”

Taylor covered Matty’s hand and slid it up his chest, right over his heart. He didn’t want to think about those months, the ache of missing Matty so much he’d thought he was coming down with something fatal, like cancer or Lupus like his ma. “I never wanted that for you. I’m the one that looks out for you _,_ you know?”

Matty’s face darkened. “Yeah, I know. And I know something you don’t. Remember when I moved back home, Teddy took me to dinner, just the two of us?”

“Yeah.” He’d been working for Teddy a year or so by then, perfecting his tough guy skills. “What about it?”

“We ate dinner and after we were done, he took me out on the patio so we could smoke. We stood there looking at the bridge and then he suddenly says to me, _‘Kid, I got a present for you.’ ‘Yeah?’_ I said, thinking he was gonna give me another gold watch or maybe a car. But then he says all casual like, _‘I’m done with Taylor. I think I’ll loan him out to you for a while.’_

Matty pulled away and sat up, fingers laced as if he was choking an invisible throat. “He said it like you were _his,”_ he said to his fists. “Like you were a thing that he could just toss away or—” He shook his head and then turned and looked down at Taylor. His eyes were narrowed, red. “I need you to know that I never thought of you like that. You’re my friend. You’re not—”

Taylor leaned up and wrapped his arm around Matty’s waist and pulled him back down to lie on his chest. One day he was gonna talk about the way Teddy used to stare at Matty, like he was waiting for his chance, the sick fuck. One day but not now. “You’re kidding, right?” he said hoarsely. “I never did. I never thought you were anything like Teddy. Never.”

Matty didn’t say anything.

“That was why you didn’t want me to set up business here?”

Matty nodded against his chest.

“You want me to be my own man.”

It wasn’t a question but Matty nodded again. “I want us to grow up. I want us to be equals. Neither of us are what they say we are. My pop thought I was a loser; Teddy said you were a machine.” He kissed Taylor’s chest and repeated, “Neither of us are what they say we are.”

“I get it.” And Taylor did. He’d thought Matty had been pushing him away when he’d really been pushing him on. And that was better than okay even if it didn’t change much—he was never gonna be a business leader, a mover and shaker. He was gonna be whatever Matty needed him to be and that was never gonna change.

“Are you mad?”

“About Teddy?” He shook his head. “No way. I knew what he was. Every time he tossed me a wad and smiled, I wasn’t fooled. He was a fucking snake—soon as bite you as kiss you.”

Matty nodded. “I know that now.”

If he’d been feeling sexy, that was done with—mostly he was just tired. “You wanna…?” He stroked Matty’s back.

“Nah,” Matty sighed. “I’m beat.”

“Okay.” He reached out and cut the light. And then, like they’d done it a million fucking times, Matty turned on his side and Taylor went with him, so close he wasn’t sure where he ended and Matty began.

A million fucking times and he should have known it would feel like this, so good and right, pressed up against Matty, chest to back, dick to ass, and he thought again, _‘I’m the one that looks out for you.’_

_I’m the one._

***

Taylor woke, the night still black outside, soft lips on his. Flushing with sleepy joy, he rolled to his back and pulled Matty with him.

Matty kissed him harder and slid on top. Taylor spread his legs to make room.

They fucked again, this time nothing more than rubbing their dicks together. He fell asleep as soon as they both came, Matty a heavy weight on his hip and thigh.

***

He slept hard, a black space of _then_ and _now,_ waking to bright morning coming through the curtainless windows.

Confused for a moment, Taylor couldn’t figure out why he was all the way to the edge of the bed. He twisted to look over his shoulder and saw the rumpled sheets, the extra pillows and it all came back: Matty, sex and then sleeping together.

He rolled over and stretched out his arm. Matty was gone but the sheets were still warm.

Smiling up at the ceiling, Taylor stroked his chest and belly. Finally.

It had finally happened, and damn, he’d wanted Matty for so long, it was only now when the longing was gone that he felt its power, the ultimate strength of it. Five hundred fights or no, he’d never been able to beat this one.

The knowledge should freak him out, that he’d been taken so easily, but it didn’t. It was how life worked—one day you were up, one day you were down; only rarely were you were flying so high you couldn’t see the ground.

None of which mattered in the here and now, not when Matty was somewhere close by; with a soft grunt, Taylor rolled to his feet.

He pulled on his jeans and boots and went downstairs, not bothering to shove fantasy away, picturing how it was gonna be: coming up behind Matty and shoving him to the table or to the floor or up against the—

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the rail. Matty was in the kitchen, all right, but he wasn’t alone—he was talking to someone, their voices low.

Taylor hesitated, about to go back up and get at shirt, then figured fuck it, it was his house and that was his kitchen.

When got nearer, he saw Harve sitting at the table, back to the door. Matty was putting the coffee pot on the burner; he turned and saw Taylor. His eyes lit up.

Harve turned. “There you are.”

“Morning, Harve,” Taylor said, refusing to be embarrassed but not quite making it. “You’re here early.”

“I was up at five,” Harve said with mild affront. “As always.”

Taylor shook his head and muttered, “Farmers.”

Harve grinned and got to his feet. “I thought I’d see how that soffit is holding up.”

“And?”

“And, I haven’t looked, yet. Matty was kind enough to offer me a cup of coffee.” Harve picked up a mug and raised his eyebrow. “You coming?”

Taylor snorted and went to the stove. Matty handed him a mug before he could ask. “Well, come on then.”

Harve nodded and headed for the door. As Taylor passed behind Matty, Matty reached out and stroked his stomach.

Cheeks warm, he followed Harve outside. If this was how it was gonna be, if just a look and a quick touch from Matty was enough to make him lose his cool, he’d have to come up with a plan. That program on medical discoveries had talked about vaccines, how they worked by building up a person’s resistance. Maybe he could do something like that, increase his exposure until the day came when just looking at Matty wouldn’t get him all hot and bothered.

Fat chance.

“You say something, son?”

Taylor shook his head and sipped his coffee. “Nope.” The ground was soft from the night’s rain. It might be a good day to start clearing out last year’s weeds.

“That’s what I thought.”

He snorted softly at Harve’s wry tone. “How ‘bout you, Harve? Did your house make it through the monsoon?”

“Pretty much. We had a window screen torn off but other than that, we’re fine.”

When they got to the corner of the house, they both looked up. Everything seemed dry and Taylor said so.

“Yep,” Harve agreed. “You done good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised, Taylor. Just happy that you know what you’re doing.”

Taylor shook his head and glanced around, a quick survey of nothing in particular to give himself time to smother a stupid, helpless smile. “Me, too, Harve, me too.”

_______________________

 

Coda

 

 

“You gotta be shittin’ me.”

Matty kicked his ankle. “Shut up. Someone will hear you.”

Taylor rolled his eyes behind his Ray-Bans. The nearest spectator was an elderly woman by the name of Agatha Miller; she was ten feet away and had hearing issues. “You gotta be shittin’ me,” he whispered, the patio chair creaking with his weight.

Matty grinned, covering his mouth with a loose fist. “Yeah, it’s pretty sad, isn’t it?”

Harve had invited them to the Fourth of July parade. Taylor hadn’t wanted to go. His only weekday off for months, he’d planned on sitting in front of the fan with Matty to watch TV because they’d set up a satellite and finally _had_ TV. A Twilight Zone marathon was on—Taylor wasn’t into scifi, but Matty loved it and he’d pictured it, him lounging back with Matty in his arms. They’d get up once in a while for snacks or the bathroom, but mostly it was gonna just be TV and sex. Only…

Only Matty had thought the parade would be a good thing for them, their first event as a couple. Taylor had asked Matty what he was expecting, them holding hands and kissing in front of everyone? Matty had rolled his eyes and said _‘Of course not. I just think it would be good.’_ That was all he’d said but the way he’d said it—Taylor had realized the parade was important to Matty, a chance and challenge to go out there and be who they were. He’d been having his own doubts and fears about how to act in public—it looked like Matty had been, too.

So they’d piled into Taylor’s new truck that was really new _ish_ and headed on out.

Thanks to the loan of two patio chairs from the Miller’s, they’d found a seat near that ancient cannon. Taylor had been expecting beauty queens and fancy cars covered with roses. What he got was a line of old cars decked out with a few sad bouquets, a couple horse-drawn wagons and a goat pulling a cart. The line snaked down Main Street and then back around. Alongside the slow moving vehicles, clowns ambled about and kids twirled batons. The kids weren’t very good—they kept dropping the batons.

Taylor shook his head as a little girl threw her baton in the air and missed catching it. It rolled under an ancient Ford and the cars all had to stop so the girl’s mom could retrieve it.

Still, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The sidewalks were standing- and sitting-room only. Harve and Margie were over by the post office. Earl and his friends were kicking it by a late-model Cherokee. Earl was wearing a t-shirt that said ‘ _ECC Tech Rocks.’_ As for the rest—what did it say about Taylor’s new life that he was on a first-name basis with most? Was it a good thing or a bad thing or just the way it was?

A loud honk and then a familiar melody drew Taylor’s attention. Up the street, an ice cream truck was pulling to the curb. The kids all shouted and began running towards the truck, baton twirlers included.

“‘Biggest event of the year,’” Taylor quoted, remembering Matty’s comment from that first day.

“I think it’s because they’re alone most of the time,” Matty murmured.

Taylor frowned. “Who’s alone most of the time?”

“Them…” Matty waved his beer bottle. “They spend a lot of time on their farms. This is just an excuse to get together.”

“Like us at Piccoli’s arcade.”

Matty smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

Taylor leaned back, his chair creaking again. It was almost shocking, thinking on what had been and what was now. Back then he’d been a punk kid, hanging out at the arcade, carefully watching the older guys, examining their gestures, their attitudes. Even then he’d known that most of the guys were losers, each headed for an early grave or a lifetime in jail.

Except for the new kid, finally let loose of his dad’s chains, no pun intended. With his too serious eyes and those lips pretty enough to be trouble, Taylor had recognized the kid was different, was made for better things. It would be a lie to say that just meeting Matty had changed his life but it had set something in motion, something that was still forming, pushing him in a specific direction whether he wanted it or not.

“What is it?” Matty murmured.

“Nothing,” Taylor answered, leaning again, this time towards Matty so their shoulders pressed together. Across the street, Harve caught Taylor’s eye and then smiled; surprisingly, Margie did, too. “Don’t forget, we’re closing tomorrow.”

“I’ll be home by three,” Matty said. “When we’re done, I wanna christen the house.”

“I thought we already did that.” On the sofa, the tables, the stairs—like dogs marking their territory, they’d made it everywhere. Only that morning he’d fucked Matty on the dining room table they’d bought from Fisher’s garage sale. In a month’s worth of memorable moments, it had been something else, the way the newborn sun had highlighted Matty’s muscles, the way he’d clutched Taylor’s arm’s, breath hitching as he murmured, ‘Taylor, _Taylor_ …’ like he was singing without singing.

So, something else and Taylor had to clear his throat before adding, “The only place left is the basement and that’s not cleaned out yet.”

Matty smiled softly. “I know, but now it’s different, you know? That the house is ours; nobody can take it away from us.”

_‘Nobody,’_ Taylor thought, remembering the night that had looked to be the end of them but had really been the start. The night everything had changed. Now, nobody was gonna hurt Matty again. Now, nobody was gonna take him away.

They were sitting in plain sight of everyone and Taylor couldn’t respond the way he wanted. So he took a pull from the beer that was getting warm, pressed his boot against Matty’s and then said, “Yeah, nobody.”

 

 

_fin_

 


End file.
